S S C
by Susan M. M
Summary: Picard's Enterprise meets Avon's Scorpio. Mischief and mayhem - and mirth - ensue.


**S. S. C. (Silly Stupid Crossover)**

_Star Trek: the Next Generation/Blake's Seven_

**Standard Fanfic Disclaimer **that wouldn't last ten seconds in a court of law: These aren't my characters. I'm just borrowing them for, um, er, typing practice. Yeah, that's it, typing practice. All characters belong to somebody else (the late Gene Roddenberry, the late Terry Nation, and a batch of corporations) and will be returned, if not unharmed, at least suitably bandaged.

**S. S. C.**

**(Silly Stupid Crossover)**

_Star Trek: the Next Generation_ 1st season_/Blake's Seven_ 4th season

originally printed in Syzygy #3, edited slightly for 'netfic

Winner of the ORAC Award for Best Short Story Comedy, 1989

**by Susan M. M.**

BUMP! Sliiiide, then rumble tumble, falling pell-mell down, down, down ... splash and kerplop!

"What was that?" half the bridge crew asked simultaneously.

"We seem to have accidentally ventured into an astronomical phenomenon not unlike a naked singularity, save that it is functioning as a space/time vortex, that is to say, a stellar portal into chron- "

"Data, just tell us where we are," the captain ordered with a sigh.

"We fell into a very wiggly black hole, sir, and have journeyed through both time and space," the android rephrased his statement.

"I told you you couldn't navigate without your glasses," Worf whispered. He wore a gold lamé sash over his Starfleet uniform. He told his shipmates that it was to honor his Klingon heritage, but he'd actually borrowed it from his Terran foster-mother's closet.

"You were the one who double-dared me to try," Geordi La Forge whispered back.

"When are we?" Captain Jean-Luc Picard demanded.

"Captain, according to my calculations," Acting Ensign Wesley Crusher, aka 'The Boy,' announced, "we have travelled forward in time approximately 437 years. Plus or minus standard deviation for the usual error factor."

"What is the usual error factor?" Counselor Deanna Troi asked.

"A century and a half," Wesley admitted.

"Well, now that we know when we are, let's find out where we are. La Forge, determine our position. Compare the local constellations with our astrographs and star charts." Captain Picard decreed, "Our mission is still the same no matter when or where we may be: explore and investigate."

"I already have that program running, sir," Lt. Cmdr. Data replied.

"Good," Picard approved. "Very good."

"Sir, there's a ship approaching," First Officer William Riker said. "Maybe we could ask them for directions."

"By its configurations, it's a refitted freighter, Captain, probably a smuggler. Shall I blast it?" Worf asked hopefully.

"Now, Lieutenant, this isn't - "

The entire bridge crew silently mouthed the rest of the sentence along with their trepid leader.

" - the 20th Century; we don't indulge in such mindless violence anymore," Picard stated, oblivious to the lips moving in unison with his.

"Captain, the other ship is hailing us," Tasha Yar announced. The blonde security chief was moonlighting as communications officer.

"Put it on speaker."

A babbling rush of semi-intelligible gibberish poured out of the intercom.

"The universal translator should have it in just a minute, sir," Data promised. "It appears to be a dialectal variation of Terran English. Ah, I think that has it. Ah-ah-ahchoo!"

Data was programmed to be the fully functional equivalent of a human male, even down to imitating organic behavior. All organic behavior. (Just ask Tasha.) Unfortunately, when his involuntary reflex mimicry circuits decided at random that it was time to act, the electronic impulses generated thereby accidentally erased the newly translated message.

"Gesundheit."

"Thank you. Oh, no! Captain, the translator is on-line now, but I lost their greeting."

Picard scowled Gallicly. "Open hailing frequencies. Ahoy there. This is the _Enterprise_, a vessel of the United Federation of Planets. Please identify. We did not copy your last transmission properly."

"_Enterprise,_ this is the privateer _Scorpio_."

"A privateer! I knew it," Worf exclaimed. "Request permission to destroy them now, sir."

"Lieutenant Worf, obviously a vessel of that size wouldn't confront a ship like this unless they had some secret weapon that had us hopelessly outgunned," Captain Picard said.

"Actually, sir, they didn't confront us. They just introduced themselves," Riker corrected.

"Don't interrupt, Number One. I was talking to Worf, not you. Re-open hailing frequencies," the captain ordered. "_Scorpio_, we surrender."

"Not again!"

After a long moment, a reply came over the intercom in a slightly surprised sounding voice. "We accept your surrender, _Enterprise._"

* * *

"Can't we just pretend we don't see them?" Vila Restal asked. "Maybe they haven't noticed us yet."

"That ship seemed to just appear out of nowhere. That means they must have a cloaking device better than mine," Kerr Avon deduced bitterly. "We must investigate. Besides, have you forgotten that Tarrant is in desperate need of medical aid? A ship that size is bound to have a proper sickbay."

"I'll survive," Del Tarrant announced bravely. "I've never seen a vessel with configurations like that before. Weird looking."

"Ugly, I'd call it," Dayna Mellanby added.

"Soolin, open communications with them," Avon ordered.

"Attention, unknown vessel, this is _Scorpio_. We are _Scorpio_. Please identify yourself."

"Actually, I'm a Pisces," Vila muttered under his breath.

After a few minutes the reply came. "Ahoy there. This is the _Enterprise_, a vessel of the United Federation of Planets. Please identify. We did not copy your last transmission properly."

"Federation!" Vila exclaimed. "I knew it. We're as good as dead."

"Worse, if Servalan gets her hands on us," Dayna commented cheerfully.

"Tarrant, does the Federation have an _Enterprise_?" Avon asked thoughtfully.

"No, there's no ship by that name in the fleet, I'm sure of it," the Starfleet deserter replied.

"According to Jane's Fighting Starships, there has not been a Federation Starfleet ship called _Enterprise_ in over two centuries," Orac announced. Orac, a small box with blinking lights, wires, and a translucent sphere within it, was the universe's greatest super-computer. "There have been several ships by that name prior to then, including the flagship of the legendary and probably apocryphal Admiral Kirk."

"Imposters, then," Avon surmised. He walked over to the communications panel. "_Enterprise,_ this is the privateer _Scorpio._"

"Is that wise, identifying ourselves that honestly?" Vila asked. As a thief, he had a low opinion of honesty.

"I want to see how they react," Avon confessed.

Their reaction a moment later surprised him.

"_Scorpio_, we surrender."

"They what?" Tarrant cried. "To us? They must be imposters. No Starfleet commander would ever surrender to a wreck like this."

"Perhaps they're plotting something." Soolin was an ex-bounty hunter, and knew a thing or two about plots.

Avon ignored his comrades. "We accept your surrender, _Enterprise_." He turned off the communicator. "Kit up. We're going over to claim our prize. Vila, you watch _Scorpio._ Be ready to teleport us back at a moment's notice; this might be a trap."

Vila merely nodded. He didn't like the situation, but telling Avon that wouldn't do any good.

"Who do you want to come with you?" Dayna asked.

"Everyone except Vila. We'll need Tarrant's Starfleet expertise to handle that monster - not to mention getting him into their sickbay - and I'll want you girls armed to the teeth. Shoot first and ask questions afterwards."

"Not likely to get many answers that way," Vila muttered as he headed for the teleport room.

* * *

The four rebels materialized on the bridge of the _Enterprise._ Their weapons were drawn and ready.

"My name is Kerr Avon," the computer genius introduced himself. Disappointingly, the bridge crew gave no sign of recognition. "Master of _Scorpio_ and now of _Enterprise._ Who are you?"

"I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard." A middle-aged bald man rose to greet them.

Dayna stared at Geordi in unabashed interest. He was the first black male she had ever seen besides her father. "This one's pretty, Avon."

"He's yours if you want him," Avon offered generously. "Keep him for a pet, for all I care." Avon looked around the bridge and saw that Tasha Yar was the only one armed. "Dayna, take her weapon."

Pouting at being forced to leave her pretty Geordi, Dayna walked over to Tasha and disarmed her. She examined the phaser closely. "Primitive." She took aim at Picard and fired. "But effective," she approved.

Avon frowned. "Was that necessary, Dayna?"

"You said to shoot first and ask questions later, Avon," she reminded him. "Besides, he surrendered. It was our right to kill him. On Sarran we don't take prisoners."

"It is somewhat difficult to interrogate a corpse," Avon noted.

"They aren't Starfleet," Tarrant denounced scornfully. "The uniform's all wrong and the logos are so crooked they're almost upside-down."

"Who are you?" Avon demanded.

"Captain Picard told you. We are officers of the Federation's Starfleet, and this is the _Enterprise._" Riker wondered if he should mention that Tasha's weapon had been set on stun, or if that might make the boarding party decide to correct the situation. "I'm First Officer William Riker."

Avon shot at Riker. The first officer grabbed his wounded arm and tried not to scream or faint. "I don't like liars," Avon announced. "We are quite familiar with the Federation and its Starfleet, and you are not they."

"Not the current Starfleet, no," Wesley spoke up. "We fell through a very wiggly black hole and travelled forward in time."

"A very wiggly black hole?" Avon repeated scornfully. "You don't mean that tired old pseudo-scientific theory of the outlawed Church of St. Banzai?"

"Dr. Buckaroo Banzai was one of the greatest minds of the 20th and 21st centuries," Wesley defended his hero.

Avon walked over to the acting ensign, grabbed him, threw him over his knee, and spanked him soundly for being a smart-mouthed kid. When he finished, he sent Wesley to go stand in the corner - somewhat difficult on a round bridge. Avon turned to examine the prisoners on the bridge, and Data caught his eye.

"Android, come over here."

"Actually, my name is Data - Lt. Cmdr. Da- "

"Quiet. I hate chatty machines." Avon snapped a spare bracelet on Data's wrist, then raised his communicator to his lips. "Vila, we're sending you back a present. An android I want Orac to reprogram. Teleport."

Data disappeared off the bridge, and Dr. Beverly Crusher appeared. Actually, she didn't materialize, she just rushed through the doors in the normal fashion, albeit faster than usual.

"Wes! Wesley, are you all right? My mother's intuition sensed you being hurt," she cried.

"That's my job," Troi muttered. "I'll talk to the union about this."

"Who are you?" Avon asked, getting bored asking the same question for the third time.

"Dr. Crusher, Chief Medical Officer. I'm Wesley's mother. Please, is he all right? I'll do anything to save him - anything."

"He'll survive," Avon remarked dryly. "I have two patients for you. Your former first officer is bleeding all over my flight deck; you might want to do something about that. And Tarrant needs medical attention, too. He has an ingrown toenail."

The entire bridge crew gazed at Tarrant in awestruck admiration and sympathy, that he had managed to conquer them despite such a grievous injury.

Avon eyed the CMO, a very attractive redhead. "When you're done, report to the captain's cabin for further orders."

_CENSOR'S WARNING! CENSOR'S WARNING! Any continuation along this line and this story will have to be transferred from T-rated to M-rated._

"This ship just turned privateer," Avon announced. "From now on, we will be pillaging and terrorizing the Federation, and destroying as much government property as possible."

"You mean you're going to turn this noble ship into a tool of piracy and terrorism?" Worf asked.

"Yes," Avon admitted.

Worf stood and slammed his fist against his chest in salute. "What are your orders, my lord commander?"

"Sounds fun," Tasha approved. "Count me in."

Avon smiled at her, burning out three computer consoles as he did so. "What's your name, girl?"

"Lt. Tasha Yar, sir. Chief of Security."

"Yar? Tasha Yar?" Soolin repeated in amazement. "My name is Soolin Yar."

"Perhaps she's your great-great-grandmother," Dayna suggested, running a hand through Geordi's hair.

And so under Avon's command, the _U. S. S. Enterprise_ looted and pillaged the galaxy, wreaking havoc and making a profit. And they all lived happily ever after ... until Wesley developed a crush on Sleer.


End file.
